Persephone
by vts
Summary: [Yami MalikxIsis] “All our hands are stained in some way, dear sister.” An unwanted dream leads to a chance encounter involving denied lust, mind games, and pomegranate seeds.


**A/N:** Haha, my first solely-Fearshipping fic, and the first one I typed on the new computer. Let me tell you, TextEdit is a pain. I'd like some better word processing software soon. Tell me what you guys think of this!  
**Warnings**: Where to start? I-can't-believe-it's-not-incest, some sexual references, talk of myths, slight AU, Yami Malik being creepy...this is the closest to smut you'll ever get from me. Also, QuickEdit has been acting wonky, so let me know if any of you catch words lumped together and other errors.  
**Summary:** (Yami Malik x Isis) "All our hands are stained in some way, dear sister." An unwanted dream leads to a chance encounter involving not-lust, mind games, and pomegranate seeds. Takes place before the Noa Arc begins.

* * *

**Persephone**

It was almost dawn, and most of the competitors on board the Battle Ship were in sleep's peaceful embrace. Shadows ruled every crevice of the unfortunate blimp, including the arena. Not a soul was wandering the labyrinth that made up the hallways of the area below; if one was still and quiet enough, he or she could probably hear the breathing of the life all around.

Suddenly, a laugh echoed throughout the cabins, loud and almost palpable. But if anybody heard it, from the sleeping bodies to the wide-awake Kaiba Seto in front of his computer monitor, there was no sign.

Darkness prowled silently, a panther hunting with a magician's wand.

---

Isis woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat.

Sunlight poured through the tiny windows, bathing the room with the glow of dawn. Squinting at first to adjust, she slowly saw the world around her come into view: the sheets covering her, sticking to her body in jagged ripples, the light creamy color a contrast to her tanned skin; the door shut tightly, isolating her from the rest of the ship; and the contents resting on the drawers next to her bed, including a glass of water, a notebook with the word "Dreams" scrawled across the blue in cursive, silver letters, and a green-and-blue beaded necklace lying like a snake. Reluctantly, she raised a hand and laid it on her neck, only to feel bare skin and nothing more -- as expected.

She pulled her hand away, her ragged breathing starting to become regulated. So what had happened the previous day was all real; she no longer had the Sight, her brother's darkness had awoken to kill them all, and what remained of his good side was only alive through a different host. The Pharaoh was supposedly going to save them -- no, he _would_. There was no doubt about it.

But though her Sight was gone, her dreams felt as real as the visions that she was once blessed with. Even now, she still saw Malik in flames, an arm raised in a futile defense against the searing heat. She could see his face contorted in agony, lavender eyes widened, and oh, gods, how he _screamed_. But then she had learned that he was alive, however barely, and that there was a chance that he'd be restored.

But the _other _one...

She swallowed the bile rising in her throat and reached for the dream journal. She reached the next blank page easily, removing the pen from its resting place between the pages. With a click, she began scrawling, trying to sort through the faded afterimages of chocolate skin against skin, an amused smirk, her black hair always swaying in and out of her line of vision. There were giggles and pleasure and then then there was blood, red coating everything, and then there were screams. Throughout all that, she heard a laugh: deep, sinister, and lingering.

At times, she had to pause, telling herself that she didn't /have/ to go through this like all the others, but she continued. For the next fifteen minutes she went through the dream -- no, the _nightmare_ -- again, eventually recalling every little detail as if she was suffering through it now.

_Ah, but would you call it _suffering _when you enjoyed it so much...?_

Isis' head snapped up out of reflex, but the door was still closed tightly. She gripped the pen tightly in her hand and slammed the dream book shut, shuddering as she set it back on the table. She could breathe easily again, but her heart still hammered in her chest like a war drum being played.

She slipped out of the sheets, grabbed some clothes from her luggage, and recounted her loyalties while she wandered to the bathroom, hating the monster that haunted even her thoughts.

---

"I am forever devoted to the come-again Pharaoh."

With a quick turn of the knob, hot water descended from the shower head, caressing every curve of her. Isis stood and let the steam rise around her, letting the heat purify every inch that needed it. She raised her chin to the ceiling and let the liquid run over her hair like a healing ambrosia. She savored it.

She soaped a washcloth and scrubbed all over, from her arms to her legs to her back and beyond. The water washed the suds away quickly; afterward, she just closed her eyes. Having a shower was the best thing for her at the moment, she told herself; it carried a sense of extreme privacy and confidence. She could ponder about things that she never had the time for otherwise, and the best part of all was that she could feel _right_ again.

"I will always be loyal to him, for he is our savior."

She imagined herself to be in a waterfall. Any impure feelings that she may have harbored from that _nightmare_ would simply be washed away. She repeated her beliefs to herself, though there was obviously no need; after all, he'd know that she'd never leave his side.

_Then why are you bothering to do so?_

The voice again. Isis woke from her reverie and glanced to the blurred glass beside her, body twisting as she prepared to whisk it open and scold whoever dared intrude, but there was no shadow on the other side. She paused; then, slowly, she gently pushed the shower door open just enough for her to snatch a towel from the rack. When that deed was accomplished, she pushed open all the way, wrapping it around herself and stepping out onto the smooth floor. Cautiously, she approached the doorway and paused before reaching out a slender finger and pushing the button.

The door slid open.

Her heart skipped a beat. She saw the lips that she knew nothing about until the previous night curled in that oh-so-familiar smirk, the regal-yet-sinister pose, the violet mantle flowing behind him, and those lilacbottomlessempty eyes boring right through her...

"Sister," he began(she saw the gold, gods save her, he had the Rod), "you're taking quite a long time. Have you had another bad dream?"

She pushed the button again immediately, and the door shut in his face. She stood for a few seconds, wondering if he would break in (likely) or wait for her (as a cat, patiently stalking its prey), but nothing happened in those long moments.

Swallowing her fear, she walked back to the shower and turned off the running water. She shed the towel and dressed in her fine dress, then blow-dried and brushed her hair. Isis took the shawl and draped it over her head, then sauntered to the door, making sure to collect her wits before once again opening the doorway.

He was standing across from the bathroom; his eyes were closed, but the same twisted smile remained on his features. The Millennium Rod hung from a belt loop on his side, a constant reminder that he could bend anybody to his will -- including her, if he wanted. She averted her eyes and walked to the right, muttering "It's free" under her breath to him.

He flung out an arm in front of her. Isis froze and gave him a sideways glance, regretting it as soon as she met his eyes. He was _staring_ at her with such a sickening look, and he was snickering, one hand in front of her and another on the wings of the Rod...

"Fear becomes you." With that, he moved his arm from her path, but made sure to brush his fingers against her midriff before walking into the bathroom.

Isis gave a cool glare after him before walking down the hall, feeling ill all over again.

_I am devoted to the come-again Pharaoh..._

---

Despite being early, a breakfast had been laid out, its appearance being that of a feast fit for a king. Everything a person could imagine eating at that time of day had been placed on the dining table, from bagels with cream cheese to carefully glazed cinnamon buns to fruits of various shapes and forms. A duelist had to be fit in every way possible, after all, and what better way to energize a person than to eat?

Though she had valued her solitude throughout the journey so far, even Isis was succumbing to a bout of hunger. So she had arrived at the dining room, looking forward to only a simple meal to hold her over until the end of the tournament -- and, possibly, the world. But there was no way it would come to that, of course; they all had a messiah who would save them from peril with the forces of light, or so the visions and stories told.

The room was sufficiently lit when she had entered, despite the only source of its brightness being the risen sun. She had reached for a pear, expecting to only finish the fruit and leave to clear her mind, but nothing was ever that easy. As she bit into the soft, sweet meat, she noticed that there was a shadow leaning against the wall, watching her intently.

She turned her head toward him while chewing and raised an eyebrow, attempting to mask her sudden anxiety.

The figure crossed his arms, tilting his head to the left, but his wild blonde hair stayed in place. He looked her up and down, the faintest hint of a grin on his lips.

She swallowed, then managed a strangled greeting: "You again."

A chuckle. "But of course."

Isis tore her gaze away from him and concentrated on the pear. Her appetite had left her, and the next bite that she took was difficult to get down.

"Do you find that more interesting than me?"

A sudden bout of defiance overtook her. "Maybe."

She bristled, but stood her ground as she watched the shadow approach out of the corner of her eye. In what seemed like almost no time, he was standing _right next to her_, busying himself with other items on the table. She could see every detail of him in the light, from the way that leftover remnants of water dampened his hair and made it droop ever-so-slightly to the way that droplets glistened on his skin to his pose, leaning over in lazy confidence with half-lidded eyes that oozed malevolence...

He took a red fruit, plump, round, and slightly larger than his hand. He laid it upon the table and reached behind him, exposing the Millennium Rod.

Isis' breath caught in her throat.

Yami Malik gave her a sideways glance without bothering to spin around. "You seem quite interested in me all of a sudden." A devious smile crossed his face. "Or maybe it's just because you fear this...?" He spun the Rod in his hand in a taunting manner, pointing it at her before removing the knife's sheath.

Without thinking, she stepped backwards, bracing herself to run.

It all happened in a blink. He struck; there was a sickening sound of flesh splitting open, and he laughed. He split the fruit in half, revealing a core of white veins, some stained pink and some blood-red. Crimson seeds were laid in spokes jutting out from the center, all organized in rows. He dug his fingers into the rows and came up with handfuls of the seeds, all leaking juice into his palms.

Isis stared. "A pomegranate."

"Yes." He grinned and let his head fall back, then raised a hand and let the seeds drop into his mouth. He chewed slowly, swallowed, then leered at the woman beside him. "A forbidden fruit, as many like to call it."

"I'm aware of that."

"Do you know why it's so hated?"

"The Greek myth of Demeter and Persephone," Isis replied smoothly, growing irritated. "It's common knowledge."

He sniggered. "Six months to frolic above ground, followed by six months below to spend time with her lover in the darkness. These seeds have quite the power, don't you think?"

Isis placed her unfinished pear in the disposal, looking away from him. "I have no time to listen to your rhetoric." She was barely three steps away before he grabbed her arm and pulled her in front of him, an arm locked around her waist. She stiffened.

"On the contrary," he breathed in her ear, "we have all the time in the world."

She flinched. "Let go of me." Though he had her trapped, she was blushing, and her heart was beating wildly in her chest, she _would remain calm_. Nothing irrational would come out of this...

"Why should I? You looked so _captivate_d by me earlier."

"I wasn't," she replied, trying to slip at least one arm out of his grasp. He only gripped tighter, and unconsciously, she struggled.

"Then why were you staring at me like that? Your own brother, of all people..."

"You are not my brother," Isis hissed, managing to tear away from him. She gave him a stern look, one of pure abhorrence. "How dare you say something like that to me..."

He pulled her forward and looked down at her, his face inches from hers. "Well," he drawled with a dangerous tone, "if I'm not your brother, then there shouldn't be a problem."

It was then that Isis noticed that the Rod was still clutched in his hand in the form of the knife, razor-sharp and dripping red. She froze, but tried to keep her face blank, to no avail.

He laughed harshly. "I see that we can finally agree with something," he stated in an amused manner before closing the gap between them, his lips on hers.

Isis closed her eyes, trying to shut out the world around her, but there was still that _monster_ controlling everything. Then she remembered the dream, and how it was just like this, with his hands traveling across her and the pounding of his own heart against hers and the way they moved together and the way that she was actually responding to everything...

With a gasp, she broke away from him, a hand flying to cover her mouth. Yami Malik smirked and licked his lips. "A pity we won't get any farther than that...unless, of course..." he trailed off, glancing at the Rod.

At that point, Isis knew that her eyes had widened, for he had given another bemused chuckle.

"But I, too, have more important things to do with my time," he started, giving her another sly look. "Besides, after this little... _escapade_, I know very well that my dear Persephone will submit to me willingly."

Isis shook her head, but he merely grinned.

"You're quite vulnerable now, you know," he said, glancing at her bare neck. "You'll be seduced by darkness quite easily that way."

"You assume too much."

"Do I? You're just as responsible as I am, in most cases."

Though her eyes had remained tranquil that time, she had taken a step backwards. "You're wrong."

"Who was it that showed your dear brother the world in the first place, and had Rishid pay the price? Who was it that helped organize this entire tournament, ensuring the deaths that wouldn't have come otherwise?"

"I was only --"

"Admit it. You started _everything_. And now that there isn't any fate to go by anymore, I can do whatever I want. I'm sure you must be worried."

"The Pharaoh will come through for us," she replied mechanically, the words branded in her mind.

"Amazing how after you were so keen on fulfilling my own desires, you can still claim loyalty to somebody who's abandoned our family for countless years."

Not wanting to hear anything more, Isis averted her eyes. Instead of more tales of destruction that could only come from someone like him, she heard nothing for a second. She looked back up to see him scooping more seeds out from the fruit, then taking one of her hands and dropping a few in her palm. Disgusted, she took her hand away, though the seeds were still trapped in her fist.

He smirked. "It seems I've come up a bit short, but that vacancy will be more than filled. Be warned, dear sister -- they stain, but all our hands are red in some way." With a flick of his mantle, he turned on his heel and left her alone, laughing all the while.

She looked after him, delicate features turned into a frown. Before leaving the room herself, she opened up her palm to see five pomegranate seeds laid in her hand, dripping scarlet everywhere -- her supposed years in darkness. All represented those who had fallen.

One for her father, the cruelty from tradition coming around full circle.

One for Mai, the brave vixen whose pride became her demise.

One for the spirit of the Ring, who dared question Darkness' validity -- and one for his host, whose crime was simply being there.

One for her true brother, forced out of his body by a personality turned parasite.

Isis narrowed her eyes -- the myth had included six, representing half a year of winter, but this was less then that. However, he had promised that the dearth would be more than accounted for, and she couldn't help but believe him. She let the seeds fall from her hand and into the trash bin, ignoring the crimson fluid between her fingers.

---

"I believe in you."

Such simple words, but they were true. The short, wild-haired boy in front of her nodded, his royal presence contradicting his height. His eyes were of one who had seen much in a lifetime and did not suit the boyish nature of his face. Isis had been taken aback when she first laid eyes on him, but that surprise had melted away almost immediately when he spoke; his voice had carried an air of authority, and she greeted him by his title like she had originally planned.

"Isis," he began, "there's something that you have to know."

She blinked, surprised by the uncertainty in one who had been so confident before. "Yes, my Pharaoh?"

"My objective is to destroy your brother's dark personality at any cost. If his good side, as you put it, cannot be saved at that time..." he trailed off, his eyes darkening.

A lump formed in Isis' throat; she forced herself to speak. "I know that you'll come through in the end."

"So I pray," he replied, his tone sounding weary. "If it does come to that, however...think of this as my apology."

She bowed her head and closed her eyes. A flurry of images flew through her mind: Malik giving a sad smile and a goodbye before fire engulfed him, his quiet farewells changing to pained hysterics in a split-second; his dark side wrapped around her, giving a low, malevolent chuckle as he dragged a knife across her bare back, her own screams indistinguishable between ecstasy and utter fear; and the world around them surrounded by shadows, corpses of dear companions at her feet, two arms lunging from the darkness while her hands overflowed with red seeds...

"I understand, and I thank you." 


End file.
